Not Unlike The Toaster, I Control Darkness.

So I Am Death" Charlie Said Then Turned To His Daughter While Buttering His Toast. "this Is Death Toast Sweety.

It Was An Eight-harlot Inn, If That's How You Measure An Inn. (i Understand That Now They Measure Inns In Stars. We Are In A Four-star Inn Right Now. I Don't Know What The Conversion From Harlots To Stars Is.)

The Gourney, The Big File Drawers Of The Dead, The Instruments Of Dissection - This Sure Looked Like The Morgues In The Movies. Something Had Gone Seriously Wrong While She Slept.

I Think There Was Always Some Scrawny Dreamer Sitting At The Edge Of The Firelight, Who Had The Ability To Imagine Dangers, To Look Into The Future In His Imagination And See Possibilities, And Therefore Survived To Pass His Genes On To The Next Generation.

May The Irs Find That You Deduct Your Pet Sheep As An Entertainment Expense.